My Woman His Wife Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

My work badge, my access card, and even my personal mobile phone were all confiscated. If they were able to find even the slightest evidence, I would be grounded for life. I didn't know how I walked out of the company office building. I went home feeling dazed. When I opened the door, what I saw was just an empty apartment. There was a file on the empty table. It was a divorce agreement. I opened it with trembling hands. The agreement was pretty clear. My wife wanted to divorce me, and I was to leave with nothing. The reason for the divorce was that I was disloyal and made a terrible mistake that ruined the reputation of our family.

“Those two years when your legs were paralyzed—yes, I wasn’t by your side. But why? Because I was out finding a cure for you! “I went into the hottest deserts, battling sandstorms and blistering heat to find the plants needed for extracting those medicinal compounds. My team and I were nearly swallowed by quicksand. We faced storms that almost killed us. But I never backed down because I wanted you healed. I wanted the research to succeed more than anyone else. “And what about you? While I was risking my life for you, what were you up to? You were sleeping with my cousin. You hid it from me for two years! And you even used ‘business trips’ as an excuse to marry her in America!

A sound that made my blood run cold. A woman's laugh. Breathy. Intimate. Then Adrian's voice: "Shh. She's probably still asleep." No. No, he wouldn't. Not here. Not in our apartment. But I already knew he would. Because I'd seen this before. In my first life, in a different place, but the same scene. The same betrayal. I stood slowly, silently. Crept to the balcony door, which I'd left cracked open. And looked inside. They were in the living room. Maribel was bent over the arm of the couch, her leggings pulled down to her thighs. Adrian was behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other squeezing her breast, his face twisted in pleasure.

Manuela turned to the door, frowning at the sight of a woman in a revealing outfit. "Are you the wife of that handsome man?" "Who are you?" "Oh, I drove him home. We met at a bar," the woman said. Manuela felt a pang of unease; Uno had gone to a bar and let a woman drive him home. "Your husband is so hot and handsome, but he's too loyal," the woman said, making Manuela frown. "Huh? W-what do you mean?" "Nothing. But I can see why he wouldn't flirt with me. He has a beautiful wife. Here's his car key. Good night," the woman said, closing the door and leaving.

Legitimate. “So you weren’t the other woman,” I whispered. “No.” Her voice broke. “I was his wife.” My hands were dead weight, fingers bending without feeling. “What happened?” I asked. She walked past me into the living room and sank onto the couch. She didn’t sit. She collapsed. I stayed in the doorway, afraid that crossing it would make everything shatter. “Everything changed,” she said, staring down. “His company grew fast. Too fast. He needed people. Access. The right kind of woman standing next to him.”

“You’re my wife.” if I’m his wife……Why does another woman keep getting pieces of him that belong to me?

Mine had already drained away, replaced by something colder, heavier—worry. My thoughts spun as I stared out the window. I couldn’t keep clashing with him like this. That ridiculous book, The Perfect Wife, flashed through my mind—its chapters on handling dominant men. Softness. Vulnerability. Subtle rebellion. A woman with fire, but without the flames. Sweet enough to draw in. Dangerous enough to chase.

She had wondered privately if the stink of the city alone could coerce her to follow her husband’s command to stay indoors, though she considered it highly unlikely. As she had paused to examine the books lining the shelves, the faint beginnings of her good humour had fled. The titles on the spines leered down at her, the jagged lettering contriving rotten faces of their own. Woman and Sin, they read. The Keeping of a Good Wife. Accomplishments Acceptable in the Female Gender.

“That woman is my wife.” And my Life, he thought furiously.

The woman changed her clothes to a thin pink nightgown, and it was covered with floral lace on the chest. Regan, who was reading a book and leaning on the bed, was mesmerized by the appearance of his wife. The woman was always beautiful at every opportunity, especially when she was in that sacred room. He is increasingly convinced that his decision to marry Fisya is the fate he wanted. Regan made a promise inside, he would keep his wife by his side even if the world was against their relationship. "What book are you reading?" asked Fisya. She followed up on the bed and sat next to her husband.